Little Wet Tears on Your Baby's Shoulder
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: Sam cries. It's not exactly how Becky thought it would be. An attempt to take "Superbecky" a little more seriously, although not too too much. Set directly before Season 7, Time for a Wedding!.


Disclaimer: not mine. Title is from the Regina Spektor song "Lady".

Summary: Sam cries. It's not exactly how Becky thought it would be. An attempt to take "Superbecky" a little more seriously, although not too too much. Set directly before _Season __7, __Time __for __a __Wedding!_.

_Little Wet Tears on Your Baby's Shoulder_

Becky Rosen wasn't exactly sure how she got herself into these situations. Okay, yeah, Las Vegas, camping, she had planned that. That was no surprise. And okay, thanks to Guy it wasn't surprising that she was sitting next to Sam Winchester either- although it was still totally and ridiculously _awesome_. What surprised her was how Sam was holding one of her hands and stroking it absently while he told her about his brother. What surprised her was how she had managed to get him to talk about Dean so easily.

Guy had told her about the side effects, but assured her they wouldn't be severe. A little drowsiness. Possibly lightheadedness. _Over-emotionality._"I can handle it," she'd sworn with a mischievous grin.

But it was only the fourth day of the camping trip and she was sprawled beneath a high altitude patch of trees, and _Sam__ Winchester__ was __telling __her__ about __his __feelings_. As hard as it had been to convince him to drink that first glass of Wiccan-spiked lemonade, this had all been so freaking worth it. Becky felt a little lightheaded, herself.

"I'm just really worried about him, y'know?" Sam was saying, his rough-skinned thumb tracing over her knuckles, feeling like a puppy's scratchy tongue. "He's been on edge since he was four years old, if we're being honest, but it's been so much worse this past year. Especially since Cas died. And I'm trying to be there for him, y'know, but I'm also trying to give him a little breathing room. I dunno. I dunno what to do." He sighed.

Becky scooted a little closer, tucking her knees up under her chin and resting her head on them, face turned so she could keep her eyes on Sam. He laughed, a little self-consciously. "Thanks for listening, Bec. You're awesome."

"Of course, baby," she cooed. _Playing __it __cool_. She was trying something new.

Now that she had the luxury of time.

"He just really needs someone. But he won't let anyone get in there. The whole thing with Cas really screwed him up. Like, _really_."

Meh. Dean. It wouldn't have been Becky's first choice of conversation, but her heart fluttered a little every time Sam turned his puppy eyes on her, so if he wanted to talk about his brother, she would let him. It really was adorable of him to be so torn up about it. Really was just another sign of what a beautifully wonderful brother he was.

"He'll come around," she assured him, squeezing his fingers in hers.

"You think?" Sam's voice was hopeful.

Becky raised her head to nod at him straight-on, then froze. Outside she couldn't move, but inside her stomach felt like she was on a theme park ride. Were those- oh god yes, those were actually _tears_ welling up in Sam's jewel-tone eyes. They weren't exactly _glittering_ like they were supposed to, but they lined the lower lids of his eyes, wavering there. Trying not to seem too enthused, she saddled up a little closer, laying her other little hand on his big arm. "Sam?"

He turned his head away. "Sorry," he grunted, pulling one hand back to swipe at his eyes.

"No, hey, don't be sorry." Panic swirled through Becky as she almost climbed over Sam in an attempt to look him face-on again. "It's okay, Sam, you can cry. Really." _Oh__ god __yes__ you __can __please __it's __okay. __Go__ on __and__ cry __for __me._

Silly Guy and his "over-emotionality". This wasn't potion-induced. This was a heartbroken man who finally had somebody to talk to. _Let __it __out_, she urged him silently. _Let __it __out __let __it __out __let __it __out;_ it became a mantra in her head.

She could help him. Really. She could heal his pain. Maybe this relationship was new to him, but it was ages old to her. How many times had they cried together before? How many times had she curled up under the blankets with _Heart_ or _Mystery __Spot_ or _Fresh__ Blood_ and sobbed right along with him, and hey, maybe their situations weren't exactly identical, but it was nice to know that someone out there felt as crappy as she did. Sam needed to know that too. And now she could show him.

Sam was strong. And it wasn't that fake, eggshell strength either- not that rigid fragility that threatened to crack at every turn. Becky didn't go for that kind of strength. _If__ I__ did_, she thought with a private, near-hysterical giggle, _I'd__ be __a__ Dean __girl_. No, Sam was strong like a tree- pliable, and mighty, and he could let people in. He could let her in. He had to.

Becky pressed up against him, shoulder to shoulder, tilting her head towards him. "You can cry, Sam Winchester," she murmured. "It's safe. I promise."

How exactly she'd known what magic words to say, Becky hadn't a clue. But as she watched, enthralled, the tears crept out onto the platform of his eyelashes, came together, and slid in two perfect droplets down his chiseled cheekbones.

"Sorry," he whispered again; his left hand was still grasping her right one, and at the same moment they both squeezed.

How many times had she written scenes like this? Dreamed of moments like this? For all that experience, she had no idea what to actually say. "Don't be sorry," she whispered, faltering only a little. "I've got you, Sam. I really do. I'm not going anywhere."

Which seemed to be the second set of magic words. Tears began to collect and fall faster than Becky's eyes could follow, and all she could think to do was lay her head gently on Sam's shoulder and run her free hand up and down his muscular forearm as he quietly cried. His sweatshirt- a little unnecessary in this weather, but adorable nevertheless- was soft under her cheek, and his shaggy hair tickled her forehead. He smelled a little like sweat (although then again she probably did too) but more powerfully he smelled like shaving cream and peanut butter. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his arms; they were thickly haired, and the skin beneath was rough. She willed her fingers to memorize the feel of it because it was just so _Sam_.

"Becky."

Snapped out of her reverie, Becky raised her head- and caught a good glimpse of Sam's face. For a split second, her mind balked at the sight before her; a grown man crying up close wasn't actually all that appealing at first go. In that short instant, she fixated on the smallness of Sam's swollen eyes, the uneven flushing of his face. He sniffed, and she realized for the first time that sniffing actually signaled the immanent possibility of snot leakage, which was not terribly attractive.

But she shook it off. Of course it wasn't like fiction- it was real, and that made it ten times better, even if pressed this close together she could easily tell that Sam hadn't showered in a few days. So what? It was _real_- and it was _private_, now that Chuck was no longer writing. She had Sam- and his tears- all to herself, and that was worth it. That was worth anything. Bodily fluids, bodily odors- whatever. It was _intimate_.

Sam was still staring at her, almost shyly, like he was trying to find the exact right words to use. "Do you think I could...?"

She cocked her head to the side, not sure what he meant. But before she had time to ask, Sam slid one arm under her knees and wrapped the other around her waist in one smooth motion. She had to stifle a squeal as he pulled her into his lap and hugged her to him like a giant teddy bear. He pressed his face against her neck, humid breath misting over her collarbone, and squeezed around her waist like a man holding onto a life raft. _Good __thing __I __wore __the __spaghetti __strap_, she thought, a bit hysterically.

"It's okay, Sam," she cooed. "It's okay, I'm here." One hand fingering his tangled hair, the other tracing the broad contours of his back, she tried her best to comfort him.

He made a little noise, and Becky realized with another start that Sam was really crying now- sobbing, to be precise. It didn't exactly _reverberate_ through her body like it was supposed to; it was more like an intermittent kind of twitching that she barely even felt. And it sounded like little hiccups more than anything else. But that didn't change the fact that Sam Winchester was sobbing. _To __her._

"Sorry," he choked, his voice all husky and hoarse, and pressed his face more tightly against her, adjusting his hold as though afraid she would let go.

"Shhh," she soothed. "Shhh, Sam." Her knees were swung over one of his outstretched legs and she was twisted a full quarter turn at the waist to keep their bodies aligned. Her spine was starting to twinge, but it didn't matter one little bit. "Shhh, baby." Should she sing? Maybe she should sing. Maybe she should pull back and kiss the tears from his cheeks- an oldie but a goodie.

But before Becky could contemplate what to do next, a sudden thought hit her- she didn't want to do anything. Didn't want to prolong this. Somehow, sneakily, that pleasant, roller coaster swooping in her gut had turned to terrible, food poisoning-eqsue cramps as she listened to the sniffles and apologies. There was nothing enjoyable about this. At first it had seemed so romantic, but Becky realized in one harsh flash just how unprepared she was for how for seeing someone she loved in so much pain.

It hurt so bad that she wanted to cry too- but she wouldn't. She couldn't. There'd be time for that later; now she had to be strong for him.

"Sam," she whispered, putting her lips to his ear. "Are you with me, baby?"

_Stop crying. Ohmygod please stop crying, Sam._

There was a little wet gasp, then Sam nodded. The hiccupy twitching stopped, and she could feel it against her chest as his breathing slowly evened out. Then, at long last, he sat back and dropped his arms. Becky crawled out of his lap, repositioning herself at his side as he tugged a sleeve of his sweatshirt down and wiped at his eyes with the cuff. Tears were still coming, but slower now, and Becky was both disappointed and relieved. Oh well. No big deal. The first time she lost her nerve just a bit- but Sam was hers now. There would be other times. There would be a _lifetime_.

"I don't know what that was," Sam admitted nervously, laughing a little. "I hope I didn't scare you, Bec. I don't know where that came from." He sniffed again, the tears almost dry now, and shook his head. He stretched, and Becky distantly acknowledged the pops of his spine and neck cracking. "I've been feeling okay lately, honestly," he mused, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"I guess you just finally had someone to talk to," Becky suggested, still a bit shell-shocked. Inside her chest her heart was pounding so quickly and ineffectually that it felt like a bird trapped behind her ribs. There wasn't enough blood flowing; her toes were going numb.

"Yeah. That's got to be it. And I do feel better." Sam leaned over and pressed a kiss on her forehead. He pulled back, took a long look at her face, and the fond expression on his made her squirm. Then Sam placed another kiss on her lips, gently- and the shock that snapped through Becky's body was exactly how she had expected.

This wasn't their first kiss; she'd gotten that minutes after that first drink. But this was the first time that it had really felt _right_ somehow, like the potion was less necessary than it had been. Like they had _earned_ this.

"I love you," Becky murmured, because god help her no matter what that was true. She knew that for sure now, and all at once she felt proud and dizzy and terrified.

"I love you too," Sam whispered.

And hearing that was even _better_ than Becky had ever allowed herself to dream.


End file.
